


just (a fool's) rewards.

by xxxquitor (esquitor)



Series: yet still the shriveling skins. [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Consensual Gangbang, Deepthroat, FaceFucking, Gangbang, Horns, Implied Size Difference, Implied Violence, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Cum Inflation, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sensory Deprivation, Spitroast, Threesome, belly bulge, filthy smut, implied canon character death, many many many balrogs, sassy mairon makes a reappearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 09:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17485661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esquitor/pseuds/xxxquitor
Summary: melkor returns from valinor with a new distraction. three new distractions. four, if one counts feanor, five if one counts the rest of his line. (well. maybe 10 in that case.)mairon gets one of his own. distractions. several of them. (maybe 10. maybe more.)





	just (a fool's) rewards.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really out here writing gothmog/mairon aren't i....... i'm really out here.. writing.. balrogs ganging mairon... aren't i..... ///
> 
> uuhhh this was started...... 3.5 years ago now and i just. reaalllyy needed to get it out of the WIP status. i didn't feel like making too many edits to what i'd already written either, so the writing quality kinda switches topic right around where the gangbang ends. gets a little. Emotional.
> 
> anyway enjoy the porn. and mild angst. edited but unbeta'd.
> 
> (not canon compliant with **_belief._** / **_not love, but worship._**. at least, not entirely.)

It begins with a crescendo. A quiet voice, level, detailing the results of the recent skirmishes and battles. The line of Fëanor, and the death of that one called their King.

It ends with a roar.

"..I wanted him _ALIVE_."

Melkor's final word echoes through the cavernous room, reverberating down to Mairon's fingers.

He can't say he's completely devoid of blame for the recent... loss. Despite being the regent ruler of Angband, he's done little for their combat forces, leaving them mostly in the hands of Gothmog. Which, while logical.. may have explained why they were so restlessly brutal in the most recent victory.

A victory in the sense of having won, yes. But no doubt Melkor wanted Fëanor alive for.. entertainment purposes. And he can't say he wasn't the _slightest_ bit jealous that Melkor would dare to dally with an _Elf_. That he would return from his years in Valinor with an obsession for this Elf and his three shiny gems.

"..Our apologies, master," Gothmog says not-so-solemnly. "We have not fought under you for so long.. we were overzealous and careless."

" _Very_ ," Melkor growls. At another time Mairon would fear for his well-being (or, well, the well-being of his ass) at the sound of that fury. But since returning, his master has been very... lax.

Lacking in attention.

Sometimes Mairon wonders if Melkor is trying some sort of _ploy_ , to get him desperate and wanting and begging for Melkor to _take me, please_. If it is, Melkor seems to forget how long Mairon has spent without his affections already. He isn't as needy as Melkor may think he is.

That is, if Melkor is indeed thinking anything about him ( _them_ ) at all. He's.. different, to say the least. In a way that hasn't escaped anyones' attentions.

"It seems you require another sort of _motivation_ , besides myself." Melkor's gaze sweeps over them in a cold wave of fire, finally landing on Mairon standing at Gothmog's side, rather than at their master's. "..As do you, lieutenant."

"..Of course, master."

"Come here."

There's no seat next to Melkor's throne. There never has been. He cannot imagine where else to go but to.. the Vala's side. So he does.

" _Here_ , Mairon."

He looks over, and sees Melkor's blackened hand gesturing. Towards--

"...Master?"

"I realize I have been rather distant with you of late, Mairon, and it seems to be affecting your.. performance. I intend to rectify that." Gruffly, Melkor reclines in his seat, legs sprawling wider over the throne. "Don't be shy now. Haven't you sat on here before?"

"No," is all Mairon can say. Not on the throne and most definitely never in Melkor's _lap_.

"Well, come on, then." Reluctantly, Mairon takes his _seat_ , fitting awkwardly over Melkor's thighs. He doesn't know whether to feel glad or disheartened at the lack of reaction that follows. " _Here_ is what I propose."

Both of his master's arms wrap around his waist, pulling him flush to the chest behind him. Heat throbs in his loins and he feels a similar twitch against the cleft of his ass, but nothing further. Other than Melkor nosing at the back of his ears, into his neck. A show of affection, of possession.

"I have been lenient thus far in allowing you all to to engage in _activities_ with my lieutenant and consort. With limitations, of course."

 _Not his ass_ , was more or less what Melkor had said. Anything else goes. How many times after that had Melkor fucked him while he swallowed their cocks?

(Too many. Far, far too many.)

"But I have no intention of revoking this offer. I am, in fact, extending it. Gothmog, should you and your Balrogs return with a Son of Fëanor in tow, I will grant those parties involved unrestricted _access_ to Mairon's.. services." There brief pause that he does not hear. "..With his leave, of course."

Mairon had already stopped listening at _consort_. So when the Balrogs begin to murmur and rumble low in their throats, when flames leap atop their heads, when he sees nostrils flaring in heavy exhalations, he feels a little.. lost.

But those hungry gazes are locked onto him, so he feels just the twinge of heat in his gut as well.

“Meaning,” Mairon continues coolly, sprawled as he is over his master’s lap, “That if our Master’s demand is met, I am free to lay with you, Gothmog, and your associates.”

Gothmog doesn't say anything.

“And I would be willing.”

Melkor lets out a growl of appreciation, impressed and pleased. Only then does Gothmog bow his head.

"We humbly accept, Master. Lieutenant."

"Good." Melkor strokes a hand over his stomach, then gives his lower back a nudge. Mairon eases out of his master's lap. "Go, then. I expect to see some results. From you especially, Mairon."

"..Of course, my Lord."

"You will have a reward of your own, if I find your efforts are notable."

And yet when Mairon looks back as he descends the dais, Melkor's face is stony under the light of the _silmarilli_ , all planes and angles thrown into sharp relief. The same, but so.. so different. Distracted, in a way.

"Mairon." He looks up. Gothmog looms over him far less imposingly than before. "You know you can tell him if you don't want to."

Communication. It's something Mairon has been working on extensively with Gothmog and his Balrogs. Not only regarding what he enjoyed, but particular with what he did not enjoy. Some of the Balrogs are like Melkor enough. Wanting what they want and not entirely willing to heed his own need.

But denying them is _nothing_ like denying Melkor.

"I already said I was willing."

"Kind of want to try?" The Captain cackles lowly, the bulk of him luckily hiding Mairon's rising flush from the other Balrogs. "The thought of it makes your cock twitch, doesn't it? Or should I say your ass?"

"Do as you will," Mairon mutters. "I doubt you lummoxes could manage something like _capturing_ one of Fëanor's spawns."

"That's why we need you, Mairon." Gothmog leans over, butting horns against his own in a playful gesture. "You and me at the war table again."

He raises an eyebrow. " _On_ the war table, you mean?"

"Afterwards." The grin is toothy, a sliver of tongue snaking out to wag teasingly in Mairon's face.

"Eager to get into my ass, as always." Mairon rolls his eyes and steps aside, intending to make his way to the war room now to start brainstorming how to accomplish the task put before him. Them.

Only to find several of the Balrogs in his way, waiting for him.

"..Yes?" Their fidgeting is uncharacteristic, from what Mairon recalls of most of them. But if anything it helps ease his wariness and concerns. "If this is about the plan, we should--"

"Uh-- no, it's.. about. Well, if you're okay with it, we were wondering.."

"Master said anything. But we wanna ask-"

"Can we tie you up? Or, uh, down? Or just.. arms? Legs? Or..."

Mairon doesn't hear the rest of it.

He remembers being lashed to a table, a line of Melkor's power cutting into his throat. Remembers his arm bent at an uncomfortable angle, remembers being pushed repeatedly to and over the edge without being granted release.

He doesn't want that again. All of it. _Any_ of it.

"No ropes," Gothmog says gruffly, nudging his shoulder. He doesn't think he's never told Gothmog about what happened. "You won't be tied to anything. Whatever you do or don't want, Mairon."

What he wants. What Mairon _wants_ \--

What he wants is for them to hold him down. Crush him to a table, up against a wall, between two bodies, between two _cocks_. Fuck him while he can't _move_ , fuck him _until_ he can't move.

"Lieutenant?"

"Chains." Mairon swallows dryly, almost unable to meet their glimmering eyes, lest they see the heat in his own. "One. One chain. Wherever, however you.. want. But only one. You have enough- _hands_ , otherwise."

"Mairon.."

He takes a deep breath and reaches up, pulling Gothmog down by a horn and snarling into his ear with no regard for those watching. "Room. _Now_."

 

 

Mairon comes _shaking_ and whimpering with Gothmog's fingers buried in his ass, rubbing _hard_ over the bundle of nerves that sends him into cataclysmic orgasms. Moans catch haltingly in his throat, because he imagines Melkor holding him down by the neck again. Imagines Melkor's cock inside him. Imagines—

"You keep thinking about him," Gothmog says lowly, fingers still twisting and pulling.

Mairon gasps over the Balrog's neck, "Does that make me a fool?"

"No." The Captain hovers over him, the head of his cock pushing against Mairon's loosened entrance, sinking in just enough for him to feel the stretch of it. "It makes you his loyal servant."

"You can't—" Mairon groans, legs twitching over Gothmog's shoulders. "You can't fuck— _ah_ -"

"I won't, just want to come inside you.... Fuck, you're _tight_ —!"

"You _can't_ —!"

But he doesn't sound very convincing even to himself. Never mind that the ban is Melkor's, not his own. The head of Gothmog's cock pushes and pulls on his hole. Between them Mairon sees Gothmog's hand working over his spit-slicked cock, squeezing copious amounts of pre-come into Mairon's already wet and loosened ass.

"You want me to, I _know_ you fucking do." Gothmog snarls deep in his chest, rocking, pressing, stroking. "And when we bring back that Elf, I'm going to fuck you, Mairon. I'll stuff you full of my cock and come. We're going to hold you down and fuck you until you _beg_ us to stop."

With a feral sound, Mairon sinks his teeth into Gothmog's shoulder as the Balrog releases into him in spurts and jets, squelching deeper until the heat of it reaches depths Mairon never even knew existed.

As the torrent dies down, Mairon licks over the marks he left on the Balrog's skin. "I _dare_ you to try it, Gothmog."

"So long as you let us try," the Captain mouths hotly over his neck, a whisper of a moan. "And we _will_. We will make a _mess_ of your ass, we will spread it wide and loose for our own use. You'll wish you never agreed to this, _Mairon_."

" _Never_."

It's the first time Gothmog kisses him. The first time in three Ages since Melkor was imprisoned, despite how often they partook in each other's service and comfort. Here, in an unused room, hefted up against the wall, Gothmog kisses him and tongues at the crease of his lips, teeth over flesh, letting the taste of burnt water permeate his mouth.

For the first time Mairon feels the weight of those past three Ages on his shoulders, as heavy as Melkor's gauntlet clad hands. For the first time, he allows himself to feel it.

"...I can't wait for you to fuck me," he growls against Gothmog wide, toothy grin, and with only a hint of sarcasm.

* * *

Seeing the convoy return with a red-headed Elf in tow is almost.. exciting. Gothmog looks smug, and Melkor practically _glows_ from his seat on the throne when they enter the room.

"Well done... Congratulations, Gothmog. You've succeeded in bringing me a scion of Fëanor, just as commanded."

"It was a joint effort, master."

"Was it, now?" Melkor laughs lowly. Mairon makes no overt gesture to acknowledge those words. "Then I will have to prepare your reward as well, Mairon. After theirs, of course."

"Of course."

"Now bring the Elf to me, _Valaraukar_. You will have your reward now, I presume?"

"We do. We have even chosen the location already.

"Let them go, then. You can escort Mairon there as you see fit."

The Balrogs file out, fortunately without any untoward movements or words. It's only the Elf that shoots him a filthy, furious look of disgust, apparently coming to his own (not inaccurate) conclusion of what is happening around him.

" _Whore_."

Mairon blinks, and he wants to laugh. But before he can, Melkor yanks the Elf's head back to face him, grinning with a _snarl_.

"Watch your tongue, son of Fëanor. Or I'll make a whore out of _you_ as well."

A sort of fear curls in Mairon's gut at the sight of that display. At the hate in the Elf's eye, the way he struggles in his bindings, the _delight_ Melkor takes in watching.

Gothmog turns him with a touch on his shoulder, and hands him an leather eyemask attached to a strip of black cloth.

"Not that we don't intend to do the same to you, Mairon," the Captain murmurs into his ear, and Mairon shudders, "but.. I guarantee you'll be far safer."

If Melkor sees his shudder, sees the heat in his face, he says nothing. If Melkor sees how willingly Mairon wears the blindfold, how well he responds to being led blindly out of the room, he brings no attention to it.

Mairon is somehow glad for that.

* * *

He's red. Flushed crimson, perhaps— he can't see himself right now, so he can only imagine what he looks like, reaching out to hold onto Gothmog's arm in case he trips over the one in a million cobblestones that weren't laid down smoothly.

They've come to a stop and Mairon feels the presence of several others in the room, but he cannot tell who they are, Maia or Balrog.

"..Are we there? Gothmog?"

"Yeah." A hand claps over his back, sending him stumbling forward a few steps until he bumps into someone, hard-planed and bare-chested. "Alright, let's get him ready."

His robes are quickly pulled off, too many hands rubbing over his chest and neck, palming the sensitive areas of his body. When he's completely bare, his arms are unceremoniously pulled behind his back and held in place by a massive clawed hand. Nails rake over his skin, fingers plucking and flicking over the piercings in his nipples, dragging an darker, hotter flush from his skin. Two more fingers in his mouth gags him metaphorically into wordless groans.

"Relax, Mairon." The fingers are removed, only to be replaced by three more. Then two more. Again, and again. "Just _relax_..."

Mairon isn't sure how he manages to remain upright throughout the.. _preparation_. Numerous and endless train of fingers pry open his hole, digging in and rubbing along his insides, stretching him _wide_ until his legs tremble and his knees threaten to buckle. Until that bundle of nerves inside him never stops spasming from the relentless stimulation, and the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees are the hands holding his arms behind him, digging into both hips to stop them from twitching away.

But just as he's about to spill with a whimper, something hard and cold encases the entirety of his cock and balls, cinching over the base of it. Just enough to keep him on edge and _keening_.

"What the- _hell_ is that- Gothmog, you can't just--!"

"You said one chain, Mairon. Here, have a look."

And his head is bent down and held in place, so that when the lip of the blindfold is lifted all he can see are his own feet, arms reaching between his legs, his own cock straining against the net of thin chain links. One lock at the base keeps it shut, and another weighs down at the head of it, making sure he feels every movement of his own hips.

"One chain. Anywhere they wanted it."

The darkness returns and something jabs deep into him, setting off a spark of blinding fire that burns down his legs and up his spine until he wants to just _curl into a ball_ and ride out the endless aftershocks.

"--ink he's ready now. Get him up there, on the bed."

He is limp. Drifting. Gasping, shaking, _arching_ as they pick him up bodily and drop him onto some padded surface. A bed? A cot? A simple mattress set up solely for this purpose?

" _Gothmog_.." Mairon groans, arms still locked in position behind him. He struggles to his knees and cranes his neck to seek out something familiar to ground himself with.

A quiet rumble of laughter ripples over his skin, and he tries to press back into the heat he _knows_ is behind him, from whomever is still refusing to let his arms go.

"He's still shaking, Captain." The cackle is not mocking, but neither is it entirely friendly. It sets Mairon's teeth on edge, and he shows them. "Aren't you going to comfort him?"

"I don't need _comfort_ ," Mairon hisses, hands writhing in the grip of whomever is still holding them. "Just- put a cock in my ass already."

"Hah!" Something heavy thumps down in front of him. Mairon assumes it's Gothmog, for the sound of his voice and the hand grabs his chin and holds it still. A lurch in his gut tells him to open up, to be ready to swallow and suck and _gag_. "How greedy you are, lieutenant... Your _mouth_ is certainly ready for us. And it would be terribly rude of us to keep you waiting, wouldn't it?"

His stomach flutters in anticipation. Mairon doesn't answer with anything but a soft, open-mouthed whine.

"Alright. Don't bite down now."

It's obscene how he can recognize Gothmog's particular taste by now, second only to Melkor's. It's obscene how odd the pressure against his ass feels, after so many years of having only Melkor's (and, more recently, a bare taste of Gothmog's). It's obscene how he remembers all the minute details, the folds of skin, the veins, the dull bumps and ridges of the scales along the base against his tongue. How he can discern the difference between the smooth slide of Melkor's cock and this one that bulges and catches on the rim of his ass, rubs into him in ways he has never imagined before.

"Oh, I think he likes that. Look at this hole... it keeps twitching and sucking me in- _ah_ , fuck, that's nice and tight. I guess he gets turned on hearing this kind of talk."

"Haura, if you keep talking like that he'll come before you can get any fucking done."

"That's fine with me. Did you hear that, Mairon?" A few beats against his backside already has him trembling. "Come whenever you like, I'll just fuck you through it."

"What about what we agreed on?" A third voice growls its way over, another hand stroking through his hair.

"Still the same. One round each. For now." Haura grunts and pushes in deep, holding there until Mairon moans pitched around Gothmog's cock. "Not my problem if he can't handle it... Not that he _can_ come, anyway, right?"

Mairon comes, then. Or tries to. The cage around his cock does a horrendously wonderful job of tightening around the base even as it twitches and bobs frantically. And with every nudge and rasp of the cock inside him, scraping over the patch of nerves, every growling moan tickling over the skin of his back, he feels every muscle in his body clenching and straining for release.

All that comes out is a few beads of clear fluid. Not enough. Not _nearly_ enough to sate the burning in his loins.

When the ringing in his ears finally dies down, Mairon hears the sound of laughter around him and an odd emptiness in his backside. On both ends, actually. He's still on his knees, arms still pinned to his back, cock still hard and pulsing in its confines.

"Gothmog—" He hates how desperate he sounds, how breathlessly wanton and _needy_ it is. But he can't see, he can't _see_ , he can't move-- so all he can do is beg. "Gothmog, I _need_.."

"You want to come, Mairon?" A thumb rubs over the slick on his lips, pulling his mouth open again as though to inspect his teeth like chattel. "Oh, you will. But not yet. Not until you've serviced each and every one of my Valaraukar brethren. That was the deal, after all. Unrestricted access. And don't think you'll get any in your mouth, either."

There's another round of sniggers and cackles when Mairon whines lowly, in part terror and in part arousal at the thought of being used like _that_ by so many. _So many_.

"..But the master did say he should be rewarded." A voice like honey roughs over Mairon's shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck in a manner almost comfortingly.

"Tatya, you come in his mouth too quickly for that to be any kind of reward. "

"Then does anyone else want to put this on?"

A hush falls as suddenly as the clamor had risen. Unable to see, Mairon can do nothing but wait, listen. Smell. _Breathe_.

"My lord."

There is no one else who calls him that. None who mean it, like Tatya does.

So when the head of a cock presses against the crease of his lips, Mairon opens his mouth and lets it slide in over his tongue without biting down.

"I had this made especially for you, my lord."

Mairon doesn't know what he means until the blunt tip touches _past_ the back of his throat, and something smooth and metallic brushes over his rim of his lips, right at the base of—

Another cock slides in behind him and Mairon moans, long and loud, muffled and desperate and swallowing the twitch of Tatya's flesh in his mouth.

"Are you sure about this, Tatya?"

"Yeah." A grunt. Mairon's eyes roll back behind the blindfold as the Balrog's hips jerk forward, sending the cock just that much deeper down his throat. "Just imagining the face he's making under those blinds will keep me hard for ages."

Mairon chokes out another appreciative whine. The one behind him starts moving more frantically, nubs and ridges sending him into another round of convulsions- but no orgasm. This time, though, he's fully lucid and aware of the hot fluids pumping into him, filling him with the sensation of _heat_ and completion.

"So," Gothmog murmurs into his ear in the lull between a cock pulling out of him and another pushing in, "how much do you think you can take, Mairon? You're going to start looking like one of those sows in the breeding stables."

When Mairon makes a questioning sound, the Balrog behind him laughs and reaches down to rub a hand over his belly, and he understands.

And he _moans_ , desperately, his throat constricting around Tatya's cock.

"Well, sounds like he likes the idea of it. You heard him. Keep filling him up."

His arms are released and someone else grabs them instead, pinning them down to the mattress rather than behind his back. The strain on his shoulders is less now, thankfully. The momentum pulls him down, pushes him forward, drags him into Tatya's lap. The hands that once held him up are now bearing down on his back to keep him from coming up again.

There's no sucking off anyone in this position, just being held in place with Tatya's flesh filling his throat as the one now behind him fucks in earnest.

Mairon loses track of how many times he comes himself. After the first two or three, every part of him burns, tingling and sensitive. His ass throbs from the pounding of his backside, mottled, perhaps, with newly-bloomed bruises-- and his hole feels... _loose_. No longer clenching as tightly as before, he feels _open_ and spread and wide--

And it may be his imagination, but at some point if feels like the cock in his ass is getting larger. Maybe even larger than Melkor's.

A sizable one in particular fucks him with more force than his nerves can handle, and when Mairon comes he comes _hard_. The shock of it makes his vision go white beneath the blindfold for a moment. For that moment he can't hear anything, see anything, _feel_ anything that isn't the dull _fullness_ pounding in his ass.

Tatya pulls his twitching, pulsing cock out of Mairon's mouth and he is gasping for breath again. It takes a moment to regain his thoughts, to try to pull his arms free to reach out and drag him back, swallow him down again, just like last time--

He gets Gothmog instead, larger than he has ever been before. Larger than Mairon remembers him being the last time he sucked him off. It plugs up the back of his throat, stretching his jaw so wide it almost _hurts_ and he gags, chokes, making aborted jerks and twitches to instinctively pull away. Gothmog holds still, letting him adjust enough to relax his throat, open it up more. Then the Balrog shoves the rest of the way in, head pushing down his throat with an almost audible sensation.

And Mairon goes still. His body pulls taut, trembling, _shaking_.

He doesn't know how long he remains like that. Spitted on a cock almost too large for his throat, willingly held in place to be used. At some point he feels something cold trickling down the inside of his thigh, only to be wiped up and deposited back into his ass.

"You need to close that ass of yours, Mairon. We don't want any of it spilling out."

A sharp smack and the biting pain on his right ass cheek makes Mairon jump, straining to do just that. Pulls together enough focus to will his entrance shut, until he no longer feels so exposed and gaping and open.

" _Good job_." Someone's hand strokes gently over his cheek, fingers running over the bulging ridge of his throat made by the bulbous head of Gothmog's cock. Sounds like Gothmog himself. Maybe Tatya. "You're doing well, Lieutenant."

Mairon's pleased whimper is lost around the flesh in his mouth.

He's lightheaded from the lack of air, but still conscious enough to feel the next creature mounting him for their turn. This one is heavier, hands larger, spanning the whole of his back and rubbing down the sides and along his ribs. It reminds him of a horse in the stables being appraised for health and value. Save for the fact that it makes him feel... like something else.

Then the cock sinks in and stretches him wide open again, sliding into the well-used passage easily. Mairon has never felt so.. _full_ before. Be it in his belly or in his ass. Melkor has always been his previous point of reference, and an adequately sized one, but _this_ \--

He's starting to wonder if he'll still be able to _walk_ afterward.

"How many left?" Gothmog asks thickly, somewhere above Mairon's head. The length of his cock is twitching and pulsing but not releasing just yet. "Hurry it up, we don't have all day. _I_ don't have all day."

With a spark of thought, Mairon swallows as best as he can, working the muscles of his throat around the head of Gothmog's cock. His tongue is pressed flat against the underside but he manages to move it at least a little bit, sucking and trying to take it down deeper.

Gothmog hisses and grabs his horn to use as leverage when he pulls out. Mairon gasps _loudly_ , gulping down air like a fish does water, humming and moaning at the loss. Where his jaw was once sore from being forced open so wide, now it feels loose and unhinged, hanging open just slightly for another to plunder.

And plunder it is. The weight in front of him shifts and the hands holding his arms down change, and the taste of _Tatya_ is sliding into Mairon's mouth again. Like Gothmog he grabs hold of the crystalline horns protruding from Mairon's brow, both of them, angles Mairon's head up until he can thrust into it like Melkor would.

Every sound he would make is gagged and garbled, and the most he can do is shake under every pounding thrust to his backside. Slowly he feels even Tatya's cock changing size inside his mouth, growing and expanding until it nearly reaches Gothmog's size and length.

Then he's nearly blinded by the light as the blindfold comes off. His vision is hazy and jumpy, jostled with every thrust. Tatya passes a hand over the side of his face, rolling his hips until Mairon feels like he might blank out from the pressure against the back of his throat. He's dimly aware of some word of praise, the indulgent encouragement being rubbed along his back, his hands scrabbling weakly in their hold over the bed covers.

He wants to _touch_.

"How much more do you think he could take?"

"Hard to say." Tatya gives a grunt. Mairon peers up as best as he can, rocked forward gently by the release of the Balrog behind him. "He hasn't swallowed all of it yet... but unlike our Captain, I won't force the rest of it down."

"I meant fucking, Tatya. How much more fucking do you think he could handle? I mean, look at him..."

He is a sight, no doubt. It's the longest he's gone in a session without being able to see himself, let alone anything at all. He doesn't feel covered in come, but rather filled with it. Even now the skin of his belly stretches, pressed against by his insides stuffed full of seed. Either there were a _lot_ of them who attended this... or the few that did decided to produce more than they did usually.

The thought of either option makes Mairon moan, pushing forward and relaxing his throat until he takes Tatya down to the hilt. In response the Balrog groans, heavily, _breathlessly_ , and before Mairon can make any noise he feels something pressing down on the back of his head, preventing him from moving back and off of Tatya's cock. And yet, instead of panicking, Mairon nestles in closer, freeing his tongue enough to do as he did to Gothmog.

"Makes you wonder whether he likes _sucking_ cock or just like having one shoved down his throat."

Mairon lets out a gurgled sound, neither here nor there in terms of a reply. Gothmog laughs, and out of the corner of his eye Mairon sees the Captain moving behind him, catches a glimpse of the cock bobbing at his groin.

"Do you see it?" Tatya croons gruffly, stroking the swell of his cheeks until Mairon looks up at him again. "He's going to fuck you with that, lieutenant. He's going to fuck you until you scream for us."

"Don't give him the wrong idea, Tatya. You make me sound brutal..." But Gothmog chuckles and a finger dips into his ass, swirling around the rim of it. "On the contrary. I could almost kiss this hole of yours, Mairon. Too bad it's all filthy right now. Maybe next time."

Mairon stares helplessly up at Tatya as Gothmog drives himself in, accompanied by the hooting and for some reason _celebratory_ calls. With everything inside his eyelids flutter, threatening to fall shut, and Mairon gags on Tatya's cock again as he's shoved harder against it.

" _Fuck_ ," Gothmog's second whispers, wrapping an arm around Mairon's head as though to cradle him, hold him in place and push in as deep as he can. "Fuck, that's _lovely_ \--"

He can't hear much after that, or see much. Only the fine hairs along Tatya's groin and belly, the thin scales shifting every time his abdomen flexes, the last few inches of Tatya's cock shining with spittle when he pulls out and fucks back into Mairon's mouth. He doesn't thrust very hard, at least not in comparison to the bone-shaking pounding Gothmog is giving him, but it's enough to just barely allow Mairon enough air to gasp, to moan, to _cry_ out, only to be gagged again shortly after. Over, and over, and over again.

Mairon barely notices the blindfold being put on again, having closed his eyes after Gothmog rubs particularly hard against the sensitive spot inside him. His lungs are burning for air, not out of necessity but out of the need to make some _sound_ after so long in forced silence. Every slide of Gothmog's cock does nothing to help.

"About time to hear him scream, don't you think?"

"I don't want to pull out," Tatya grunts, letting out an especially indulgent groan when Mairon runs his tongue along the underside again. He doesn't want Tatya to pull out either. "Tell me again why we haven't done this more often?"

"You already know why. Now get over here and come in his ass so I can finish my turn."

The both of them pull out at the same time. Mairon is left gasping, whimpering, shaking and trying to pull his hands free from whomever is still holding them to the bed. He thinks they've traded places several times during this whole session. They must have.

"Gothmog-- _Tatya_ , please, I—!"

"Hush, my Lord," Tatya croons haltingly, sweeping a hand over the curve of his bottom. "This won't take but a moment."

He cannot help but shout when the Balrog sinks into him in one fell swoop, groaning with relief and desperation all in one. Mairon's head thumps down, gasping and choking soundlessly, moaning when Tatya comes inside him indeed not long after.

"Why did we bother gagging him?" One of the Balrogs complains at Mairon's side. "Or blindfolding him, for that matter. I want to see his face when we come inside him. I want to _hear_ him."

" _Yes_ ," Tatya moans, leaning the majority of his weight onto Mairon's hips as leverage to fuck his own spend deeper. "You're the last one, Gothmog. Let's see him. Let's _hear_ him."

"You all talk so _big_ about it," Mairon growls, pulling even harder on his wrists. "So stop fucking talking and start _doing_."

"I love when you start giving orders," croons Tatya into the back of his neck. He's done spending, but hasn't moved from his place yet. "Even though you can't possibly think we'll actually listen to them."

"What if I start saying _please_?"

Tatya mouths at his neck with a groan. "That would be _divine_ to hear."

Mairon snorts. "What's divine is that I can hear them fucking in the background after they've had their turn."

Sure enough, he hears some dissenting denials, as well as lousy excuses to explain themselves with. Most prominent among them is _one round with you isn't enough, Lieutenant._

"I think," Gothmog says slowly, "we're done here. That's everyone, right?"

"Not you, Captain."

"Well, besides me."

The hold on Mairon's hands disappears. He pushes himself up again, to straighten out his back. It's starting to get a little sore. Tatya is still nuzzling his neck and rubbing his sides, occasionally pressing his thumbs into the knots that are starting to form. He's rocking again, but Mairon is hardly going to complain. The pressure is _delicious_ , and they're the ones who set their own limit, after all.

"--Hey, Tatya! No second rounds!"

In response, the Balrog lets out a decadent growl, arms wrapping around Mairon's waist to pull him flush against him. The half-mast length inside him is heavy still, enough to make Mairon groan, short of breath even without moving.

Only when Gothmog intervenes does Tatya finally release him. Mairon leans into Gothmog's hand on his shoulder, gingerly sitting back on his haunches to ease the strain on his knees. Usually he wouldn't mind the fading adrenaline.. if not for the fact that he's still hard as ever, still sensitive, still on edge. A single touch to his caged cock could make him come right now.

"Hwarin has a new phallus she wants to try out if your itch still needs scratching, Tatya," Gothmog says, almost orders. Tatya lets out a grunt of interest and gives Mairon's backside one last pat before leaving the cot. Gothmog palms his cheek and tips his head up. "You alright there, Mairon?"

Mairon takes a moment to gather his thoughts. The bobbing of his cock, still swollen and still far too interested, is very distracting.

"..You're the last one," he says, breathless.

Gothmog is almost always last. He says he likes having Mairon's mouth when he's tired the most, lax and accepting and more willing to let someone fuck his throat. Mairon's not sure if he wants anything in his mouth right now, though.

"You want it here or somewhere else?"

Mairon thinks of Gothmog whisking him off to another room, secluded and alone. Thinks of Gothmog holding him in bed, in a way that Melkor hasn't, or perhaps never would. Thinks of his mouth, his kisses, the different way he feels inside him. Three Ages it has been since they started this tryst, if tryst it can be called.

But it was far more than three hundred years ago that they first approached each other.

"Somewhere else," Mairon says with difficulty.

The thought of walking or moving makes him queasy, to be honest, but if they stay here, it will end as all the other rounds have ended. The blinds would come off, Gothmog could fuck him hard and screaming, fuck him until he came, perhaps more than once, and that would be it.

Which.... is. Fine. It's alright.

Mairon wants more than 'fine'. More than 'alright'.

The others protest when Gothmog bundles him up in the blanket they'd been fucking him on, something about _taking advantage_ and _cheating_ and _unfair_ , and a lot of _we wanted to hear him!_

Mairon shudders and complains about the dampness.

"Suck it up, lieutenant."

"It's _cold_ and _wet_."

It's baseless grumbling. Gothmog's body is hot enough, so Mairon presses closer and bites into his lower lip to stay quiet, reaching down to keep his own cock from jostling around too much.

Speaking of which--

"Are you walking around _naked_?" Mairon blurts out. "I didn't hear you putting anything on."

"Uh," Gothmog says, and quickens his steps.

"..Wait, what about _my_ clothes?"

"Oops."

" _Gothmog!_ "

* * *

The new room is cold without all the bodies in it.

Mairon feels the change in temperature starkly against his bare skin, even wrapped up as he is. He grouses again about Gothmog forgetting to bring their clothes along. Maybe one of the other Balrogs will be kind enough to drop them off later.

If not, they're just going to have to stalk naked through Angband to their respective rooms. Mairon doesn't relish the idea of it.

"What are you thinking about?" Gothmog murmurs into his ear as he sets Mairon down onto another bed. Also cold. His fingers fondle Mairon's length, still chained up. "You're flagging. Not losing interest, are you?"

"I'm thinking about how we're going to get clothes after this."

"Oh. You can have the blanket, that's good enough for you, isn't it?"

Mairon snarls and smacks Gothmog on the shoulder-- or guesses the shoulder, since he's still wearing the blindfold. Gothmog hasn't taken it off, but Mairon's hands are free to do as he wants now, and he hasn't felt the need to remove it either. It's not a bad feeling, really. Not having his sight.

(He trusts Gothmog with that more than he would trust Melkor with it, at this point. Which does have him concerned.)

"Stop thinking about him," Gothmog growls. He pushes their mouths together, swallowing whatever Mairon was going to say in response. "He hasn't even looked at you since he returned."

"Does that make me a fool?" Mairon asks again.

This time, Gothmog snorts. "Maybe."

Hands fumble between them, snapping the lock and chain fettering Mairon's cock and balls and tossing them aside. He nearly sobs with relief, then groans when Gothmog palms him and dips two fingers inside him to quickly bring him off to a long-awaited release.

While he shudders and whimpers against Gothmog's lips, Gothmog eases him down onto his back. Rearranges him, like a malleable sculpture; legs around the Balrog's waist, hips raised and propped up over his thighs. Picturesque, perhaps.

Mairon gropes his way down, finding and hefting Gothmog's girth in his own hands, stroking it from half-hard to full mast again. It's damp, but only slightly, having dried off on the walk here.

"I can use my mouth," Mairon murmurs into the kiss. "You'd like that, wouldn't you. Fucking my mouth with a cock that was just in my ass."

"Melkor would like that," Gothmog counters, though not outrightly unwanting. He goes down to suck a bruise onto Mairon's neck, in the same place Tatya was giving attention to earlier. "I am not he."

The fingers return to his ass, twisting and pulling his hole open until he's whimpering again. Soft little sounds, puffed above Gothmog's ear while Mairon's other arm wraps around his neck to hold him closer. Then Gothmog presses a palm over the swell of Mairon's belly and pushes down just slightly, just enough to have him writhing and whining, reminded again of the _fullness_ inside him.

"What-- _Gothmog!_ " Mairon yelps. One hand digs his nails into Gothmog's shoulder. The other one comes over the Balrog's hand on his belly, not prying or plying, but luxuriating in the feel of it, the roundness, the fullness. " _Gothmog_ , what are you doing?"

"Need some slick," Gothmog says, digging his fingers in deeper until Mairon's entire body hums with burnt-nerved pleasure. "You were _leaking_ earlier, what did you do?"

"Fuck," Mairon whines. Gothmog's fingers rub over the spot inside him, and in spite of himself he feels his cock springing to life again. " _Fuck_ , oh--"

He supposes, anyway, that _something_ leaks out, because Gothmog eventually removes his fingers so he can lube himself up. He stops pressing on Mairon's belly, also-- which he is glad for, because it was starting to feel like he could come again from that sensation alone, of being so full.

Filthy.

" _Beautiful_ ," Gothmog corrects him.

"You are," Mairon slurs, feeling around for Gothmog's face. Traces the edges of his face, his brow and cheeks, cupping it and bringing him up for another kiss.

It feels indulgent. Like something he wants to do again, so badly, but with someone else. Someone who doesn't seem to have time for his affections anymore.

Mairon moans when Gothmog enters him again, the way in slicked with someone else's spend. Melkor might have commented on it. _How delightfully filthy you are, Mairon. Look how you spread yourself, how you've been used. Look how full you are._

"What was that you said earlier?" he says, panting. The fullness is back and quickly pushing him closer to the edge. He's had so many withheld orgasms that his legs are trembling, aching with anticipation.

"What was what?"

"Something about fucking me until I beg you to stop?" Mairon gives a snarl, kissing the Balrog with teeth and tongue. "Making a mess of my ass? Spreading me wide and loose? Stuffing me full?"

Gothmog rumbles a moan against his mouth, nearly dwarfing Mairon with his maw. His tongue is thick enough, large enough, to satisfy the cravings of Mairon's mouth without straining his throat.

"I'd call it three out of three."

"And the--" His words are chocked around Gothmog's tongue, full at both ends. It doesn't help that Gothmog doesn't stop fucking him, doesn't give him much chance to speak. "--The begging?"

"We had you begging for _more_ , didn't we?" Mairon is hoisted up higher, flush to Gothmog's chest, pushing the cock inside him almost as deep as if he were on his knees. It brings him to a keening whine, gasping wetly for breath, hiking his legs as far up Gothmog's back as he can. "That's good enough for me."

"Four out- _mmm--_ four out of four?"

"We can make it five."

Mairon steadies his breathing over Gothmog's collarbone, fingers curling down his neck and pressed against his chest. Feels the beat of his heart, the flare of fire and Will within.

"..What's five?"

Gothmog palms over his ass, spreading him wider. It's thrilling to think about how he must look, stuffed with cock and seed, splayed so openly. To think about how he must look with Gothmog inside him. He sees it, in Gothmog's mind, sees the full of it wedged inside him, stretching him out so wide.

"How does it feel?" Gothmog grunts, slowing down to small, short thrusts. Teasing, almost, maddeningly so. "How does it feel to finally have my cock inside you, Mairon? _Lieutenant_?"

"Good," Mairon says, whispery. He swallows a moan, indulgent. "Feels.. so good. _Fuck_ , Gothmog, you- did you make yourself _bigger_?"

"Not really. Why?" The question is punctuated with his hips rolling to press in as deep as he can. Mairon muffles a curse into his shoulder. Another thrust and his head lolls backwards, moaning high and pitched and clenching down on the flesh stroking his innermost places. Gothmog makes a low moan in response. "--Maybe you just.. _tightened up_ too much."

"I feel so _full_...--"

Mairon doesn't remember what else he says after that. Gothmog takes a full breath and starts pounding into him, each thrust mighty enough to rattle his bones. Every sound Mairon had wanted to make before spills out now, cries and whimpers and whines, begging, pleading, demanding, _yes please harder_ , until his release spills out as well, and he is trembling and jerking in Gothmog's hold as the Balrog fucks him through the waves of orgasm.

"Goth--" Mairon wheezes between strokes, sensate, but only just. "Fuck, _please_ \--!"

"We should've done this earlier," Gothmog groans, gruff with something like affection. Like want. "Fucked you while you came. Fuck, Mairon.. that's _good_ \--"

His only response is a slurred murmur, words dying on his tongue before he can speak them. His head tips back again, unseeing, comforted only by darkness and the guttural rush of Gothmog's breath as he pushes his release _deep_ into Mairon, holding him still and bucking against him. The sounds he makes rattle Mairon's core, vibrating through his chest and down to his toes, up to where he's still leaking between them.

Leaves him high and heady, grounded only with the feel of Gothmog's skin under his fingers, the jumping muscles and tendons of his neck. Every point of contact between them.

"..One round can't possibly be enough for you," Mairon says softly. His stomach disagrees.

Gothmog's breath rumbles out of him, also soft. "We agreed to one."

"You agreed to one _with them_... They aren't here now and the agreement is done. Besides, who's going to stop you?"

"You're here to stop me."

Mairon licks his lips. "..I'm not going to."

Gothmog hovers over him-- perhaps. Mairon hears his breathing from somewhere above him, deep and shuttered. If he concentrates he can hear the other Balrogs fucking in the room they were in before.

He has to concentrate _really hard_ for that, though, so he gives up after a moment. Gothmog is still inside him, slowly stirring again with interest.

"..Roll over," Mairon says finally, pushing gently on Gothmog's chest. "Gothmog, roll over."

"What for?" he asks, but does it anyway. An arm around his waist keeps Mairon close, rolling with him until their positions are all but swapped. Gothmog on his back and Mairon astride him. He makes a sound like grating stones when Mairon rocks down against him, pitched into something appreciative. "What are you doing?"

"Practicing," Mairon says, more honest than he usually is. "Pretending."

He would apologize, but he is full and tired, and in the self-imposed darkness it is easy to imagine that he's riding Melkor instead. Though the cock is wrong and Melkor is not so broad, and his kindness is different. Melkor sounds different, would treat him different, hold him different.

Gothmog plucks at his nipples, tugging the piercings and getting a humming moan from Mairon as well. Melkor does that too.

"Wait," he says, when Gothmog reaches up behind his head. Reaches up himself to stop the Balrog's hands. "Don't, leave- leave it on. Don't take it off."

" _You're thinking about him again._ "

It comes off.

Mairon squints, blinking, jolted forward as Gothmog's hips snap up to meet his own descent. His vision has little time to refocus with Gothmog wrapping both arms around him again, moving himself to meet Mairon's every rise and fall.

It isn't Melkor.

He grits his teeth, answering Gothmog's growl with one of his own. Kisses him again, open-mouthed, hands splayed over Gothmog's chest, feeling the pleasantly surprised rumble when Mairon brushes over _his_ nipples. Touches him in a way that feels needy, desperate, and finds it answered by Gothmog's hands spanning up and down his flank and sides, grasping at his hips for purchase.

Mairon leans in close, whispering words meant for another's ears, letting them drip from his lips onto Gothmog's, cloying as an oil spill. And it is snapped up, chewed up, spat back out in a song so crass it curls Mairon's gut just to hear it, sends fire from his loins to his toes.

He's trembling when it's over. Rolling, rocking, swaying in an attempt to prolong the high, to stretch out his release for as long as possible. And Gothmog does the same, though Mairon imagines it's just because he doesn't feel like getting up yet.

Neither does Mairon, really.

"...That was weird," Gothmog says. Croaks, really. He'd gotten pretty loud near the end. Mairon did, also, but he's used to that.

"That's not a very romantic thing to say."

"We're not romantic, lieutenant." Gothmog looks at him, thumbing circles over the bone of Mairon's hip. "..Right?"

Mairon doesn't think about how he sometimes longs for Melkor's touch again. Longs to speak with him of things that are not their duties, that don't involve Orcs or Angband or the army. How after all the progress they'd made with each other in Utumno, _something_ of it must still remain.

Nothing remains. Or if there is some remnant, he cannot tell.

(Melkor would thumb over his cheeks, brush hair out of his face. Some meaningless and affectionate thing as that.)

He lowers his head again. Kisses Gothmog once more. Something gentle, sweet, and Gothmog looks confused, but he isn't impolite enough not to kiss back.

Then Mairon sinks his canine into Gothmog's lip and tears clean through it, backing off to the sound of the Balrog's growling remark of pain. He licks the blood from his teeth.

"Not at all, Captain," he says, easing himself up and off of Gothmog's flaccid length. He gives it a reassuring pat. "Not at all."

Gothmog launches at him with a roar, grabbing Mairon by the arms and shoving him back down onto the bed. But he is grinning through it, so Mairon grins, too.

And the red that is left smeared over his skin in the wake of Gothmog's mouthing and mawing is a testament to the last three Ages they have spent together.

* * *

Mairon does not seek out Melkor for his own 'reward'. Melkor does not summon him for it.

At least, not by any definition of timely manner.

**Author's Note:**

> im sad now. did i miss any tags.


End file.
